You remember the name of the town?
by otherhawk
Summary: AUAU 'Falling like dominoes' verse. There are always things can be worse. And sometimes, people think they're happier that way.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Ocean's 11, The Shawshank Redemption, WH Auden or Four Weddings and a Funeral.  
**

**A/N: Angsty AU of 'Falling like dominoes'. Have case for blaming InSilva, but, meh. Really, I'm self-indulgent and she's wonderful. And _thank you _to her for telling me when I've got something wrong and helping me make it right. Sigh. All fic is better because of her. All fic is written because of her. Whether she likes it or not. **

**A/N: Set after chapter 27 of 'Falling like Dominoes' You know. The one with long, angsty flashback to Rusty's time in prison that ends with Rusty deciding to go to Danny in next chapter rather than kill himself.  
**

**Warnings: Dark. Death.  
**

**And there is no prize for guessing the name of the town. There may be a prize for spelling it.  
**

* * *

They say the Pacific has no memory. He couldn't stop thinking of that all day, staring out at the water, vast and blue and beautiful. And without memory. The sun beat down on his face and he curled his toes in the sand. He remembered. He remembered everything. Wasn't an ocean that could heal him. Would take the fucking River Lethe and even then he wasn't so sure.

Turns out there are no happy endings.

* * *

_**Earlier**_

_**

* * *

**_

After a thousand years of silent agony, he found himself back in Vegas, curled on the floor beside his bed, a sharp ache in his wrist and in his thigh, where his fingernails had been, where he'd torn into himself again and again and again and drawn blood.

This wasn't working anymore.

With trembling hands, he reached up to the night stand. The knife. The bottle of pills.

He would go to Danny. He'd go to Danny and he'd let Danny _see_ and he'd let Danny know and he'd let Danny make the decisions. Surrender. Surrender himself and let the cards fall where they may.

Painfully, slowly, he got to his feet and his legs were trembling and he managed a couple of steps, the door further away than he'd ever thought, and then it was like his legs just crumpled beneath him and he fell, hard.

He lay on the floor for a moment, breath knocked out of him. And it was the shock that he needed to bring himself to his senses.

What was he thinking? What the fuck was he _thinking? _After all of this, after everything, he was going to go running merrily along and ruin Danny's life?

It was just memories. His and Danny's. Memories and emotions and really, if you stepped away from them, there was only right decision left. He wished that was possible. Wished they could just shut all of that stuff away, and he could simply explain to Danny, calmly and rationally, about Moffatt and Felding and _everything _and that Danny could listen and understand and realise what had to be done. Give his blessing. Would make things so much easier.

So Danny loved him. Well, Danny loved a lot of people. And yes, once upon a time, maybe Danny had loved the man that Rusty had been more than anyone could ever have imagined....but that was four years and several lifetimes distant. That man was gone and he couldn't live with what was left.

Because Danny was...Danny was...Danny was everything that Rusty had always known he was. Danny was brightly burning genius, a magic that warmed anyone close. Danny was wonder transcendent, brilliance beyond compare. And to think that Danny would want to be with a man like him. Not even a man, a thing (_a slut, Moffatt's voice whispered, lovingly)_ Just twenty nine days ago he'd been flat on his back and he could still feel Moffatt moving inside him, could still taste Moffatt on his lips. He'd let so many men do those things to him, and with the filth still clinging to him, no matter what he did, just the _idea _that Danny could love him....it was laughable.

He was disgusting. He was disgusting and pathetic and Carson was right in everything he'd said. He was nothing more than a well-trained lap dog.

He should know better. _Danny _should know better.

One more day and then it was over. He wouldn't inflict himself on Danny anymore.

Aching and determined, he got to his feet and stumbled towards the shower. He'd get cleaned up, best he could, scrub his face, then he'd go lie to Saul.

Somehow, he found he'd taken the grapefruit knife into the shower with him. The water ran red for a while.

Not much longer.

* * *

Danny didn't sleep. For a long time all he could do was sit, slumped against the door and cry. So many memories. So many regrets.

He remembered everything they'd had and everything they'd been, and he remembered knowing that there'd _always _be more time and he cried until he felt there was nothing left inside him.

And that was the point. Maybe there wasn't. He felt....empty. He'd tried everything. Offered everything. He'd shown Rusty truth, raw and bleeding, and Rusty had said no. Had walked away.

Danny didn't know what else to do. Danny thought maybe there _was _nothing else to do.

Felt like four years ago. Felt like standing in concrete hell and realising that all the choices had been taken away from him.

He shouldn't be angry – he didn't _want _to be angry – but he was. Angry and miserable and frightened, and he didn't know what else to _do. _

Rusty didn't want things back the way they were. That was the truth. That was the painful, unbearable truth. Maybe...maybe Danny had to respect that decision. Maybe Danny had to find the will to let go. To let Rusty move on.

He'd given his best – shown Rusty everything he was, _offered _Rusty everything he was – and it hadn't been enough. _He _wasn't enough. And with every time he tried, with every time he tried to help, to comfort, all he seemed to do was confuse and frighten.

There was no way back. There was nothing left. He was empty inside. Dead.

* * *

Everyone was subdued. Seemed like no one was really talking. Once upon a time, that would have hurt him. Once upon a time, this kind of atmosphere in a job would've been strange and unthinkable. Now, he was just glad that no one expected him to talk, and he played his part with desperate precision, terrified that he'd fuck up.

He almost did. He lost it, for a while, in the darkness. Took all of his self-control to bring himself back from the edge of screaming, irrational panic. All of his self control and he whispered silently to himself.

"_Only a little while to go. Only a very little while, and then no more pain. No more fear. It'll be over soon and you can _rest."

All he had to hope for. The only anchor he had left.

* * *

Nothing had changed since last night. Everyone was on edge. Everyone was looking at him like they didn't know what to say, no matter _what _Rusty had told them.

He hated the wariness in Linus' eyes as he pulled the kid up and out of the lift.

"You okay, Danny?" he asked tentatively as they dangled in the lift shaft.

"Never been better," he lied shortly and Linus looked away and let it go.

He didn't look at Rusty. Not once. Not in the vault and not before. Made everything easier.

* * *

Carson's office. Carson's office and no matter how often he tore it apart, no matter how hard he searched, the file wasn't there.

"Uh, Rusty?" Linus was looking at him. "Roman's gizmo is finished with the computer. And I found a couple of fake passports and some bank account details taped under the desk."

He shrugged. "Leave them," he said, absently, pawing through a set of files he'd been through three times before.

"So we should leave now, right?" Linus asked nervously. "I mean, we're done. We've got everything."

He paused. It was hard to think. He was so _tired..._ Did it really matter? The file was out there. The file was _always _going to be out there. The photos were truth and nothing more. Even if anyone saw it, by that time he'd be gone. There was nothing that could hurt him anymore.

"Yeah," he agreed at last. "We're done. Let's go."

* * *

Saul wouldn't stop arguing with him. Pleading. He was talking all the time that they were searching the room and Danny couldn't stand to listen.

Saul wanted him to do something. Saul couldn't stand the quiet and the dulled and the souldeath and he wanted Danny to fix everything. (_Danny wanted Danny to fix everything.) _

He'd tried. He'd tried so fucking hard and all he wanted to do was curl up in the dark, admit defeat in the quiet of his own mind. Instead he was here. Another fucking day because life always went on, no matter how bad it got.

"Just _talk _to him, Danny," Saul pleaded softly. "You don't want things to end this way."

He had no more patience and no more hope. "You know what? I did what you told me. I said the words. I told him I needed him. I told him I wanted to be with him. I even fucking told him I _loved_ him and he walked away." He stared blindly round the bedroom, tears clouding his vision. "That's me. I'm out. I'm through."

Saul was silent at last, staring at him and he couldn't help the grief.

"No happy endings, Saul," he said woodenly. "It's over."

There'd be nothing in the bedroom. He walked away.

* * *

His last con was all about fooling Saul. Letting Saul know that he was nothing to worry about. Acting like anything but a man getting ready to die.

First thing he bought with Benedict's money was a mint condition 1964 Mustang. He drove it to Saul's. Showed it off. Fought hard to broadcast just a little of the delight and enthusiasm he'd once had. He didn't feel it now. Was just a car and when he drove it, he was terrified that he was going to lose himself in the middle of traffic.

Second thing he bought was a new passport. Had to be from someone no one would expect him to go to. Lenny Karowitz, who gave him the name of a guy in New York. He made a call. Would be all ready for him to pick up.

He lasted four days with Saul. Four days of lying, four days of reassurance and promiselies, four days of spending his nights killing nightmares with steel and blood and guilt.

"Think I'm going to take a break for a few days," he said over breakfast with a casual tone he'd practised all night.

Saul stopped in the act of buttering a bagel and stared at him keenly. Rusty met the gaze evenly offering calm resolution and contentment that wasn't a lie. "You sure?" Saul asked, and he could hear every last level of that question.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Esperanza – you remember Esperanza, right? Think you met her a few times. Anyway, she asked me down for a couple of days." He looked down at the table for a long moment and when he spoke it was . "I...I could really....I think it would make me feel..."

Saul reached across the table and squeezed his hand reassuringly and Rusty struggled to hide the flinch and the fear. "Okay," Saul said softly. "If that's what you want."

Didn't seem like Saul saw anything strange in him wanting to hook up with someone. (_"Slut," Moffatt whispered in his head again and Rusty tried not to agree.) _

He caught a flight up to New York. Picked up the passport without any difficulties. After that, he caught a train down. All the way down. Reality was becoming harder to keep track of and he didn't trust himself to drive.

The Mustang was left in Saul's driveway, a solid, silent promise that he was planning on coming back. He wasn't, of course. And that would hurt Saul, and he had no doubt that Saul would look for him, but he was confident he wouldn't be found, and in a few weeks Saul would give up, and maybe he would always be a source of distant curiosity and mild regret, but better that than the living disappointment and fuck-up he'd become. Saul would be glad to be rid of him, really. Deep down. He was a burden and a responsibility Saul had _never _asked for, and it would surely be a relief not to have to worry about him anymore, not to have to take care of him.

Miles flew by. He stared out of the window and it felt like coming home.

* * *

Danny didn't want to stay with Linus. He just wanted to be on his own even less. And Linus didn't want to leave him, that much was perfectly obvious, but even so, sometimes, when Danny looked at him, he could see mistrust and resentment.

But he had to stay with Linus, because Linus was a reason to get up in the morning. He owed Linus. Owed Linus an education and a wealth of experience and whatever he wanted. And that meant that he couldn't just lie down and die, no matter how much he might want to.

They left the country again and drifted across France and into Italy and as days turned to weeks and the Benedict job became a memory, Linus' suspicions turned to sympathy and Danny felt like someone had died.

Some days he could go almost a full twenty minutes without thinking about Rusty.

* * *

He crossed the border on a Tuesday in blazing sunshine. Five minutes after, he dumped his passport, his wallet, his keys and his cellphone. Nothing he'd be needing anymore. All he kept was a wad of cash. He'd taken it out in New York. Enough to last him the rest of his life.

He kept moving. Heading south and heading west. Didn't know what he was looking for, but he was sure he'd know it when he saw it. He jumped from trains to buses. Even hitchhiked a couple of times. Momentum carried him along, dizzy and lost, and all the time memory was pursuing him, incessant and inescapable. There was no release from it. No hope. He felt their hands on him all the time now, demanding and rapacious.

More and more he found himself being wrenched out of reality. He'd blink out of nightmare and find himself somewhere new with no memory of the time between. It should frighten him. Once upon a time it would have frightened him. Now, nothing could. Nothing mattered.

Once, he escaped the shadows in his head to find himself pinned against the wall of an alley and there were teeth scraping against his throat, fingers digging tight into his arms, a smell of stale sweat and rotting food, a man rutting against him. He closed his eyes and turned his face away and waited until the man had finished. Then he straightened his clothes and went on his way.

Afterwards, he wasn't sure if that had been real or just another nightmare.

Didn't matter, in the end. And this, after all, was the end.

He did know it when he saw it. South and west, south and west, and the town at the finish of it all.

He stepped off the bus and there it was, right in front of him.

Vast and blue and beautiful.

And without memory.

* * *

From a certain, narrow point of view, the Benedict job had been an outstanding success. From the FBI's point of view it had been a colossal embarrassment. Not only had one of their own successfully stolen eighty eight million dollars from a very upset, very well-connected casino owner, they'd then gone on to let the culprit escape.

Even a week later Bobby was still dealing with the ramifications and the paperwork.

Not that he minded, really. Because Linus was safe and that was what mattered.

Still, he was frustrated and fed up and absolutely not in the mood when Mike stuck his head around his door and said "Hey, you know that Carson guy?"

Bobby just stared. Yes, he knew that Carson guy.

"Yeah, well, apparently he was one sick puppy_," _Mike laughed, shaking his head and looking disgusted. "Me and Jacobs were going through the stuff from his hotel room. And we found this file on his nightstand." He held a brown folder up in the air. "Some poor bastard's prison file. We did some checking – passed it to Edwards and Thomson and the rest of the guys, and they said it was someone that Carson arrested years back. Guess the bastard must have held a grudge. Found himself some entertaining bedtime reading. Sick, sick, sick.." He threw the file down on Bobby's desk and walked out again, still shaking his head.

Sighing, Bobby got on with his work for a few moments. Then, as he reached the end of a page, curiosity overwhelmed him, just a little. He wondered what Mike considered sick, and, sipping at his coffee, he pulled the file closer and flipped it to the first page.

* * *

Rusty had promised him he'd call every day, morning and night. Rusty had looked him in the eyes and promised him that he'd call every day, and he'd smiled like he understood why Saul was worrying and he'd sworn that there was no need to. He'd promised he'd call every day.

Rusty had lied to him.

Oh, the first two days there'd been phone calls. Phone calls full of reassurance and relaxation and _lies. _

The third day, nothing.

And Saul had spent the morning pacing up and down his kitchen, trying to settle, telling himself that Rusty had probably just got sidetracked. Maybe he'd slept in. Maybe he'd got distracted. Maybe he'd just forgotten. (_Ha!_) It wasn't until night fell with no phone call that he admitted that there was something wrong.

Took him another couple of days to track down Esperanza. She'd moved to Dallas in the meantime. And she was delighted to hear from Saul, and she hadn't heard from Rusty in eight years or more.

Rusty had lied to him.

And Saul was searching and desperate and frightened, and there were no leads.

Then Bobby called him. And things got so much worse.

* * *

Here, at the end of it all, he was happy.

He'd spent his last day on the beach, trying to get warm. Didn't work. The cold was deeper than that and the sun couldn't reach him. But it was beautiful and he stared over the ocean and the memorystorm was calmer, now. It was the easiest decision he'd ever made. (_Second easiest.) _Tomorrow, there'd be nothing left to hurt. Nothing left to remember.

He was happy. He was contented. And later, when it got dark, he walked back to his hotel, barefoot and ready.

The note he left was straight-forward. Addressed to the hotel maid. Apologising for the inconvenience, warning her not to go into the bathroom and advising her to call the authorities. He left the rest of his money beside it and placed it in front of the door, where she'd be sure to see it. Last thing he wanted to do was traumatise some poor woman.

Then, oh, then it really was simple. An injection of the anti-emetic he'd obtained from the hospital. A cocktail of pills, all washed down with a jug of Tequila Sunrise. And he lay down on the bathroom floor and waited.

Dying hurt but then he'd been expecting it to. He gritted his teeth against the ache and the chill and the burning hot thread of agony that was winding through his insides. He'd had worse. He'd had so much worse so often and he knew this would all be over soon. That was the point, after all. Dying didn't hurt as much as living.

Dying hurt and he'd been expecting that. He hadn't expected that it would be so _lonely_.

He could barely lift his head from the tiles now and he was struggling for every breath and the sound was shallow and rattling in his ears.

No regrets. He'd always told himself that. No regrets and no pity. And now, at the end of his life, all he wanted was for someone to be there, crying for him, holding his hand, _lying _to him.

He knew the path he'd walked to get here. He knew why that wasn't possible. So many things he'd done....and he'd made sure no one would find out about his death, let alone mourn it.

_He was my North, my South, my East and West,_

_My working week and my Sunday rest._

_My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song._

_I thought that love would last forever...._

He was wrong.

The words rose unbidden in his mind. He'd cried at that movie the first time they'd watched it. And the second time. But the poem could never have been about him. That was all about Danny.

He wished he could've told Danny he was sorry. Not for what he'd done. (_Never for what he'd done._) But he was sorry for the mess he'd left behind. He wished he could've told Saul 'Thank you'. He wished...

The last time he'd been dying, Danny had come for him. It had been impossible and it hadn't happened, but Danny had been there and everything had been better.

Danny wasn't here now.

He turned his head and watched his left hand spasm uncontrollably and he wondered what that meant. Maybe this was one unforgivable act too far. Maybe he'd finally come to terms with the fact that Danny was beyond him. Maybe....

"_Danny...._" Whispers echoed.

Dying hurt and he was alone.

He pulled his knees up to his chest, futilely curling in on the hurt. His eyes were closed now. Too much effort to keep them open. He wasn't sure if he was still breathing. He couldn't hear himself. Didn't hurt so much anymore. That was good. That was very good. No more pain.

One last story to send himself asleep. Long ago and Danny...

_It was New York in Winter and the snow was soaking through his shoes...._

_

* * *

_

The silent chill of a mortuary.

A drawer opened, a sheet pulled back.

Saul placed his hand on Rusty's frozen cheek.

"Yes, that's him," Bobby told the attendant. "Thank you."

* * *

In Amsterdam it was the middle of the night and it was only by chance that Danny was awake at all.

He'd stayed up drinking with Linus, celebrating a run of nothing. Oh, maybe they'd made some money, maybe they'd done a couple of things that might have been impossible...but it hadn't been _fun. _Nothing was anymore.

So it was the middle of the night and he'd had a few drinks and Saul called him. And Saul must've had a few drinks himself. Because he wasn't making sense.

(_A hotel room far away and long ago, death out of his reach)_

As Danny listened the frown creased his forehead. "That's not right," he said when Saul had paused. "You got that wrong."

(_Take the damned pills, he'd said. We're through, you and me, he'd said. I'm never going to forgive you. Go to hell in your own way. Then he'd said, I love you, and Rusty hadn't listened.. ) _

Saul told him the same thing again and it wasn't making any more sense the second time around. "You're talking nonsense, Saul," he said firmly. Because it wasn't true and it wasn't possible.

(_Hopelessness and defeat and thinking there was no other way out. Blank eyes gazing vacantly at the ceiling. The surrender of the brilliant and the unbeatable. Pain and silence. Loneliness.) _

Saul sounded frustrated (_Saul was crying)_ and Danny was just about out of patience. "You're _wrong_, Saul. He'd never do that. Never. I'll talk to you later, okay?" He hung up the phone abruptly. He could apologise later when Saul was prepared to talk sense.

(_Loneliness; impossible, unbearable, eternal.) _

Linus was looking at him anxiously, the glass in his hand forgotten. "What was that?"

Danny shrugged, not really knowing. "Just Saul being ridiculous," he said easily.

There were tears in his eyes and he didn't know why.

Confused, he looked round the room then looked at Linus. "Where's Rusty?"

* * *

_It is New York in Winter and the snow is soaking through his shoes. He stuffs his hands deep in his pockets and shivers._

_Danny hands him a pair of gloves. "Here," he says, with the concern of yesterday._

_Rusty looks at Danny's bare hands and shakes his head. "Nah. Won't be snowing in L.A."_

"_Take them anyway," Danny insists and Rusty puts them on without knowing why._

_They are standing together outside the station, lingering far longer than 'Goodbye' justifies. Their breath hangs in the air. Rusty doesn't know what he wants._

_There is a train at eleven, he knows that, and it is ten to now. He shifts uneasily. "I should..." He nods towards the station entrance._

"_You should," Danny nods, and he sounds like he's trying to hide his misery._

_Rusty feels just as unhappy and it doesn't make sense. "It's been - " He doesn't have the words. Wonderful. Amazing Unbelievable._

" _- It has," Danny agrees fervently. "More than - "  
_

" _- much more." It has. It really, really has. He stares at Danny for a moment and this is it, the moment of goodbye, and he doesn't know whether he should be going for a handshake or a hug and neither seems enough. In the end, he just smiles and turns away._

"_Wait!" Danny sounds anxious and when Rusty turns back to face him, he's staring and biting his lip, like this is the most important thing he's ever said. "Look. Don't go, please. Stay with me. I've got a spare room. Your room. If you want it." _

_For a moment he thinks he might have forgotten how to breathe. "You've known me three days and you're asking me to live with you. Are you always this impulsive?" _

_Danny doesn't miss a beat. "You've known me three days and you're going to say yes. Are you?" He takes a deep, shaky breath. "Sometimes there are moments, Rus'. And if we let them slip by - "_

" _- we'll regret it for the rest of our lives," Rusty says softly. He meets Danny's eyes and smiles and he doesn't think he's ever meant anything this much. "You already know what I'm going to say."_

_Danny's answering smile is dizzying and dazzling and Rusty can't even feel the cold before. He has never felt this alive._

_It is realisation and revelation and wonder. 'He loves me,' he thinks, as he stares at Danny. 'He loves me.'_

_Danny loves him and in that moment Rusty thinks he might die._


End file.
